


Lost Property

by Khaelis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 12:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16040348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: No one can meet the love of their life thanks to lost plastic spoons. Right?





	Lost Property

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> One more Soulmates AU, that's based on a prompt along the lines of, whatever your soulmate loses ends up in your possession.
> 
> I quite liked this idea and of course I had to write some more John/Rose AU!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it, thanks for reading!

* * *

 

 

He was used to the mystery of socks somehow disappearing in the transdimensional portal that must have been built in his laundry machine. He was used to cufflinks being disintegrated from existence by inexplicable powers that must have enjoyed wearing expensive suits. He was used to losing many things. Most of them worthless, things he didn’t even realize were gone - like plastic spoons in his kitchen cupboard, coins in his pockets, lottery tickets he left in that hideous glass bowl on the coffee table. But some others, he cherished and loved, he regretted and needed. Like that rare edition of his favorite book, like that unique tie he had had made for a small fortune. Like that cute coffee mug he had brought back from a vacation on the other side of the world. And like the keys he had probably lost on his way to work in the morning - he didn’t love those, but he  _ really  _ needed them. 

 

Computer case stuck under his arm, he feverishly patted his jacket, his trousers, rummaged through the pockets he had already searched over and over again. Phone, pencil, glasses case, biscuit crumbs, little bits of a tissue the sock-eating machine had destroyed. No keys. Definitely lost.

 

He glared at the door as if it were the one responsible and took his phone out of his pocket. Past eight in the evening, London, posh neighbourhood. He knew it would cost two bags of pure gold and diamonds to have a locksmith change the lock, but he didn’t have much choice. At least, he hadn’t lost his wallet. He shoved his hand in his inner pocket with a sigh that was immediately sucked in through a gasp when his fingers met nothing but the cool silk of the lining.

  
  


“Fuck’s sake, this has to be a bloody joke,” he cursed under his breath, going over the same pockets, again, patting them, again, as if it would magically appear if he prayed hard enough.

  
  


He threw worried and desperate glances around to find someone, or something that could help him out of his misery. No one, nothing. Except his neighbour precariously balancing himself on a stepladder to cut dead branches in his pear tree - someone who grew pears couldn’t be trusted, he knew that, but without keys, money or hope, he was his only way out. With a resolved shrug, he walked to the white-picket fence.

  
  


“Excuse-me!” he called out over the sound of clicking shears to grab his attention. “Sorry to bother you, I’ve lost my keys and I need to climb over the hedge of my backyard to access the back door. D’you mind if I borrow your stepladder for a minute?”

  
  


It probably was a bad plan, a very stupid plan, but he only realized that once his hands struggled to find purchase on the thin trellis behind the wall of pointy branches and thorns hidden among the leaves of the hedge and his legs quivered on the unstable stepladder. Too late to back down. 

 

He swiftly threw a leg over the hedge all while pushing himself up on the trellis, and he would have landed just fine on the grass if his trousers hadn’t hooked into the pointy branches and thorns. He cursed at feel of his leg getting stuck, winced at the dreadful sound of ripping material, cursed again when his weight got the better of the seams, and moaned in pain when he crashed down on his shoulder.

  
  


“You alright, mate?” the neighbour asked from behind the hedge - the smile in his words didn’t go unnoticed, but what else could be expected from a man who grew  _ pears  _ anyway?

“Fine,” he grunted as he scrambled back to his feet, massaging his sore shoulder and assessing the damage to his beloved pinstriped trousers. “Thanks for your help, much appreciated. See you later.”

  
  


He didn’t wait for an answer and walked straight to the door he hoped was actually unlocked like it should be. He rolled his eyes in relief, the doorknob turning without a protest, and while he had half a mind to crash on his couch for the rest of the evening, he knew he had to do something about his lost credit card and papers and keys. Those were definitely the worst things he had ever lost, expensive tie and cute mug be damned.

 

Just as he was about to pick up his phone, a loud series of knocks echoed from his front door.

  
  


“Oh, this better be important,” he grumbled, going to the hideous bowl sitting on the coffee table to fetch the spare key.

  
  


He was set on sending whoever was behind that door away as fast as he could without sounding too rude, make the few calls required about his lost possessions and forget about this awful day with a good, long night of well-deserved sleep. Whoever they were, they needed to be gone. Soon.

  
  


“Hello, Mister… John Smith?”

  
  


Okay, maybe not  _ too  _ soon. He gaped for a moment at this beautiful blonde woman standing there, a big cardboard box in her hands, a tiny smile on her lips.

  
  


“You are?” he asked after he managed to wipe his delighted surprise from his face.

“‘M Rose, Rose Tyler,” she answered, nibbling her lower lip as if she were embarrassed to be there. “I think I’ve found some stuff that belongs to you.”

“Oh, please tell me you have my wallet.”

“Yeah, that’s how I found your address,” she nodded - her tiny smile turned into a full grin at the relieved breath he blew through his nose. “And I suppose the keys are yours too, aren’t they?”

“You are a lifesaver, Miss Tyler, and I love you,” he beamed at her, taking a step to the side to let her in. “Please, do come in. Would you like some tea?”

“Only if you’d like some too,” she shrugged, the movement causing whatever was inside her box to rattle and clatter.

  
  


A few minutes later, they were both sitting on the couch, two mugs of steaming chamomile tea on the coffee table. Rose - what a lovely name that was,  _ Rose _ , and what a beautiful woman she was,  _ Rose  _ \- reached into her purse and took out a dark blue wallet and a heavy keyring she dropped into his awaiting palms.

  
  


“Where did you find them?” he asked, flipping through his wallet to make sure nothing was missing.

“In that coffee shop on Lexington street, you know, near the university,” she told him as she clasped her hands over her lap. “I found your professor badge inside it, so I wanted to drop them at the lost property office, but I thought… Well, I think I’ve found more than just your keys and your wallet.”

  
  


She purposefully eyed the box at her feet, and his heart started to thud just a bit harder against his ribs. He had heard about it a few times, but had never really believed, nor cared about it much. He was a scientist, he didn’t believe in fate, destiny,  _ soulmates _ , and all those ethereal things people liked to consider real and veritable. It made no sense. People couldn’t fall in love thanks to lost plastic spoons and, should he dare think, wallets and keys. Rose seemed to be a very nice woman, a very kind and clever woman, she had found his things and brought them back, but if that were enough to fall in love, he would have fallen in love a hundred times before. Except he had never fallen in love. Not once. Maybe that was because this Rose truly was his soulmate, and he couldn’t love anyone else.

 

He disguised his derisive chuckle under a discreet cough and took a sip of his tea.

  
  


“So, what else do you think you’ve found, then?” he asked, suddenly uneasy to look into her eyes and find something else, something he wasn’t looking for.

“Well, that’s just a wild guess, but… It does have your name on it.”

  
  


She rummaged through her box, that seemed to be rather full, and picked up a heavy book, all leather, engraved with golden letters and silver drawings. His heart leapt, or stopped, he couldn’t be sure. He knew that book. His favourite book, the one he had lost a little more than a year back. He reverently took it from her hands, ran his fingers over the thick cover and turned to the second page where his name was written in sharp, small letters in a corner. She had found his wallet, his keys, his book. And if all that stuff in that box was his, too, then maybe… Just maybe...

  
  


“The thing is, you’re not the only John Smith around, you know,” Rose explained, unaware of the conflicted thoughts shooting through his brain. “I found it on a bench in Green Park and took it with me. I thought, well, maybe one day I could give it back to its owner. It is yours, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah, it is,” he nodded with a pleased smile that greatly contrasted with his inner turmoil. “Quite an act of providence, right? What were the odds of you finding my lost stuff twice?”

“Could be more than twice, John,” she pointed out, a light blush rising on her cheeks. “Could be lots and lots of times. If what’s in that box is all yours, that is.”

  
  


He didn’t know if he wanted to find out everything she had gathered belonged to him. If it did, providence or luck wouldn’t be enough to justify it. It would probably mean he had been wrong, very wrong to refuse to believe in what he called preposterous faith in magic. He had been wrong, very wrong to refuse to see what the drawer he walked past everyday was. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, the less he wanted to believe. If he believed the contents of that box were his, if he believed the contents of his drawer were hers, if he believed in soulmates… He would have to believe this Rose who had knocked on his door out of the blue was his. Believe this beautiful woman was the one. The love of his life. 

 

His heart stopped, for a few seconds, just to give it the necessary momentum to break into a wild gallop that threatened to crush his ribcage. She had just taken out a tie. He knew that tie, too. What he didn’t know was what the Heck was happening to him. He was having an attack. Probably. That was the only explanation he could find to the odd warmth that spread through his limbs and the blurred filter that fell before his eyes. Had Rose always looked so perfect? It didn’t matter. She  _ was  _ perfect. God, it was becoming stifling hot in this house, he should open the drawer, no, the windows, get some of her stuff in that drawer to show her he was the one for her,  _ no _ , get some air, just some air.

  
  


“John, are you alright?” Rose asked when he failed to speak despite his mouth opening and closing on regular intervals, an alarming red hue colouring his cheeks.

“Oh yes, always alright, me, just a little hot,”, he nodded, pulling on his tie knot with a finger to loosen it.  “Don’t you think it’s hot? It is hot, isn’t it, my air conditioner must be broken or something, it’s… What?”

  
  


Of course she would look at him as if he were a nutter speaking too many words at once, but he couldn’t help it, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop. Until he noticed Rose - what a perfect name that was,  _ Rose _ , what a perfect woman she was,  _ Rose  _ \- wasn’t staring at him, but at his wrist. He followed her eyes to the bracelet he wore. Not a bracelet, really, just a black hairband he had found two or three years ago on a bus ride to work. He didn’t know why he had kept it. No one kept hairbands they found on buses, no one thought it a good idea to put hairbands they found on buses around their wrists. But he had. Without a second-thought, he had just picked it up, snapped it around his wrist, and had never taken it off. Because it was hers. He knew that now. It was hers. Could it even be? 

  
  


“If you look under the little metal bit,” she started softly, daring to shuffle close to him and take his hand - oh, Rose smelt nice, and her hands were soft, and had he already told her how perfect she was? “You’ll find a bit of blue. Blue wool. That hairband got stuck in one of my jumpers quite a while ago. John… I don’t suppose you’ve ever found a sketchbook, or a fountain pen, or…”

“A grey scarf, a tiny purse with a cat, a star-shaped button?” he continued for her with a huge grin splattered over his face, hurrying towards his drawer to take it out of its cupboard. “A silver ring, a cinema ticket, a phone charger, a USB key?”

  
  


He felt like he was drunk A strange kind of inhibition that had him ranting on about all those things he had gathered over the years.  _ Her  _ things. He saw that in the way her smile grew at each listed item, her heard that in the way her breath quickened, he felt that in the way her body oozed joy and relief. Was that how it felt to find them? To find the one and only person to love, the one and only person to be loved by? Wonderful, scary, thrilling, awkward? So very awkward, it was. He looked at her, at Rose, sitting just a few feet away, and he frowned because she wasn’t supposed to be this far. She was supposed to be in his arms, close to him, he was supposed to hold her and kiss her and kiss her some more. He had just met her and he already loved her. Maybe he  _ was  _ drunk.

  
  


“I think we’re both drunk, then,” Rose giggled at the thought he had spoken aloud, reaching out with a hand she clasped around his. “It’s odd, isn’t it? To know you love someone before you even know who they are.”

“Who told you I loved you, Rose Tyler?” he raised an eyebrow as he plopped back down on the couch beside her, unconsciously sliding a hand on the side of her neck.

“You did. When you opened the door. And  a minute ago. And…”

  
  


He kissed her. Just a soft kiss on her plump lips, a kiss that was just enough to confirm what they both already knew. He loved her. He still didn’t understand why, but when she cupped her cheeks to deepen the kiss, he knew it wouldn’t take long before he found out. The whole soulmate thing was odd, maybe absurd - honestly, falling in love thanks to lost hairbands and cufflinks did sound preposterous. But when she slipped her hand under his shirt and pushed him down on a cushion to straddle his waist, he knew he wanted to believe. 

  
  


* * *

 


End file.
